It only seemed like yesterday when I received my very first guitar
I loved it dearly!
Even decided to name it Emily.
She was my latest passion I wanted to pursue
The process was slower than I originally thought, though
Hours and hours would pass
Sweat and frustration filled the room
The very question of my disappointing progress puzzled me
The sound of untuned chords danced in my room one day
And then a loud snap cuts it out
A string has broken
My hand stings from it
A sense of reality puts me into prespective
Why am I so bad at this? Why am I stuck?
The real question is: Why do I even want to play to begin with?
When looking back I realized my original response was confuted.
Passion certainly was a word to be accosted with one of my other hobbies...
YOU ARE READING
Finding Something
PoetryYou never know what you're looking for until you find it. High school can be a place for finding things like pennies, broken vending machines, fake friends, a crush that doesn't like you back, or yourself. This is a collection of poems that I'm wri...
